


The Back Room

by Walor



Series: Discord Requests One-Shots [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Background Relationships, Jason is sassy, Multi, Sounding, sort of dub-conny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 18:00:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14676453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walor/pseuds/Walor
Summary: Jason's advice for living a peaceful life. Men in black masks? Don't trust them.





	The Back Room

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SummerHaze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerHaze/gifts), [Delanoble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delanoble/gifts).



> oh yeah this is a thing

Here’s a little life anecdote. Men who wear black BDSM masks with suits that were probably made by Tibetan monks with the silk of a rare Himalayan spider based on the astronomical price tag they donned are not to be trusted. At all. Not even if they donated a million dollars to little orphans in poverty-stricken areas or single-handedly cured your dying mother of cancer with just a caress of their gloved hand. Don’t do it. Because they were most likely a silver-tongued bastard with a sadistic streak that would make genocidal leaders blush. And they would almost certainly lead you into the backroom of a place called Hunk-O-Mania with furniture that was ripped straight out of the 1970’s, shaggy red carpet and all.

They would also, most assuredly, put you on display in front of a pair of two older men—well at least one was, the other is wearing half of a mask that covers everything from his hair down to the tip of his nose—with an array of various needle-thin, steel rods laid out on a table.

Jason doesn’t know how “working undercover for Black Mask” evolved into “working undercover for Black Mask and also engaging in his super kinky lifestyle where he would allow Roman to do a series of things that should not be considered erotic but ironically were to his person.” Probably involved a few drinks and some poorly-timed jokes at Roman’s choice of uniform for the False Face Society. In Jason’s defense, what sane man made their hired muscle run around in gimp masks that made them look like they were going straight from robbing Gotham National to sitting behind a glory hole in the stalls of the Stacked Deck. Now, Roman was making Jason pay for every quip he ever made at his “boss’” expense. Hence, the array of steel rods.

“Are you paying attention, Jason?” Roman says, a low, but amused drawl in his ear. He cradles Jason’s chin with his hand and turns him to their bedmates.

He wishes he wasn’t. He can think of five million things he’d rather be doing than watching their “scene partners” (and that was a thing wasn’t it?) across the way. The dom is an older man, in his fifties, with a finely combed mustache that would make Charles Bronson jealous. He’s in a suit that rivals Roman in perfection. Sleeves adorned with golden cufflinks with the initials WG. He is methodically working his sub’s cock, whose currently bound to the bed on deep, maroon velvet sheets. WG, or whoever he is, takes one of the steel rods from the table between them. Jason listens to the sub—can’t help but shiver at the heat radiating off the man he’s tied up next too—calmly breathe in and out through his nose as WG takes his cock, already glistening with lube, and presses the tip of the rod against the head of his dick and-

Oh. _Oh God_.

Jason’s breath catches audibly in his throat. The rod slowly pushes into the bound man’s cock, stretching the tiny hole almost comically wide. There’s a slight stutter of breath and then a moan—of pain surely, no way that could be pleasurable—as the sub stays absolutely still.

“That’s it, darling,” WG purrs. English-accent cradling the words like silk as he lets gravity pull the rod down further into his partner’s cock. WG reaches out and fondles his sub’s balls, smirking when another low groan slips out of his partner’s mouth.

“Do you think you can do better, Jason?” Roman asks. Drops the hand on his chin and trails it down his chest where his painfully hard and leaking cock has lies, teased and promptly ignored all night. His cock traitorously twitches against his stomach while his heart stops in his chest.

“What?” Jason stutters out then laughs. “No, no, no, no way. Uh-uh, sorry, I don’t know what kind of shit that guy is on to not be screaming right now but there is no way any of those are getting stuffed into my cock.”

Jason doesn’t know how Roman manages to pull off that “impressed-by-a-cute-dog-doing-a-trick” look with a mask straight out of Christian Grey's wet dreams but he does it. Takes one of the, thankfully, smaller rods from the table almost fondly and the lube bottle where WG left it on the bed. He dribbles an excessive amount on the tip of Jason’s cock and then onto the metal wand. _Shit, he was really doing this_.

They don’t have a safe word. Jason knows that's breaking sex play rule numero uno and that if anyone else in the club knew, they’d probably have Roman’s nuts if he wasn’t responsible for half of the club’s business income. Roman wasn’t exactly the guy to have a safe word either and Jason’s wracking his mind trying to think of some weird inane word to say that would maybe alert the two others in the room and would make Roman stop, just long enough, that he could get that rod away from him.

The cold metal touches the slit of his dick and all words flee Jason’s mind leaving him barely capable of more than a breathy huff of air as the rod breaches him. His eyes flutter shut. It’s overwhelming. Painful certainly and Jason dares not to even breathe as Roman works the wand inside him. But there is an undercurrent of delicious pressure, the feeling of being so intimately stuffed that has Jason nearly arching off the bed if not for the fear of being skewered.

“That’s it,” Roman coos, “that’s it.”

Jason’s toes curl into the velvet below him, desperate mewls and whimpers slipping past his lips as Roman takes his cock in his opposite hand and strokes him, pressing the wand even deeper. It burns and it does not, sparks of white dancing behind his eyes as he pathetically writhes into the bed. Listens to the low almost animal-like groans beside him WG’s partner crumbles under what must be the same, if not more powerful, immense feeling. Then Roman brushes against something inside him and coherent Jason will know, much later, that it was prostate stimulation, but at that moment devoid of words save for the overpowering sensation of the rod Jason howls.

“There it is,” Roman says and, like the bastard he is, abuses it mercilessly. “ _Good boy_.”

Jason comes--and he is surprised that he can with the rod stuffed down his cock--abruptly. Body seizing up in a wave of violent pleasure it leaves Jason trembling right down to his bones. He pants wetly, chest heaving and drenched with sweat as Roman slides the rod out from inside him. Jason opens his eyes partly and watches, both disgusted and fascinated as white almost viscous cum oozes out of his cock. Roman drags his thumb through the mix and offers it to Jason. He laps it up without a second thought.

A low, rumbling laugh next to Jason’s ear. He tenses up instantly because there are things everyone knows in Gotham from the ruby-red smile of the clown prince to the warbled cry of their bird-themed underworld man. Jason doesn't have to see an eyepatch to immediately recognize the man in black and orange. The laugh cuts off with a sudden gasp as WG pushes the rod cruelly deeper.

“You’re lucky I’m even letting you hear the boy, darling,” WG says and rubs a wet finger against _Slade’s_ hole. “This is supposed to be your punishment remember?”

“Some punishment,” Slade says, voice high and breathless it has Jason’s cock make a valiant attempt for another round. “Listening to the pretty song-bird all night.”

“Believe me, Slade,” Roman sets the rod down and takes off his dirty glove. Then the other. “By the time we’ve finished tonight neither you or Jason will confuse _this_ with pleasure.”

Jason doesn’t hold back his groan. _Fuck_.


End file.
